


sleeping at last

by pearwaldorf



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale doesn't understand how sleep works, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: Aziraphale catches him by the sleeve. “You can sleep here, if you like.”“I don’t want to put you out.” It’s the first time the angel’s invited him to stay the night.“Nonsense, dearest. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you here.” He tugs Crowley back down, slotting their fingers together.“All right,” Crowley replies. “But only because you said you didn’t object.”Aziraphale smiles and presses a little kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you, darling.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 397





	sleeping at last

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this [lovely fanart](https://gravesecret.tumblr.com/post/189332199822/he-still-looks-so-worried-when-he-sleeps) by gravesecret and it went from there.

It’s been a right fuck of a week, and Crowley is quite glad it’s over. After their celebratory dinner at the Ritz, they walk back to the bookshop for a nightcap. Aziraphale is doing something in back, perhaps getting their drinks ready. Crowley stretches out on the sofa, intending to get comfortable. 

Perhaps it’s the large amount of food and wine he’s just consumed, or because it’s the first time he’s had a chance to truly relax since the Apocadidn’t. Regardless, the next thing he’s conscious of is Aziraphale staring intently at him, sitting on the floor next to the couch. Their faces are barely a few inches apart, and he’s not going to lie, it’s weird. 

“Wzuh?” He scoots back a little until his head hits the back of the couch. Aziraphale, finally getting the message, pulls back too. 

“Oh good, you’re not going to sleep for the next century or so.” He takes a sip of tea from the cup at his side. “I confess I was a little bit concerned.” 

“How long was I out?” Crowley asks.

“About three days.” That doesn’t sound terribly unreasonable, given the magnitude of events which preceded his slumber. 

“Have you been here the whole time?”

“Not entirely—I did have to replace my tea. But a great deal of it, yes.” It’s strange but oddly flattering to think about the angel keeping watch over him, perhaps studying his face while he was out. Crowley wonders what Aziraphale saw when he was asleep. 

“Thanks for keeping an eye out, I guess.” 

“Always, darling. But I am glad you’re awake now, so I can do this.” He leans over Crowley and presses a soft, gentle kiss to his mouth. It only lasts a breath, but Crowley suddenly understands, on an intimate and personal level, the concept of the elasticity and perception of time. 

Aziraphale sits back, two spots of colour high on his cheeks. Whatever expression he sees on Crowley’s face must be pleasing, because he smiles in a way completely unbecoming of an angel. 

Crowley reaches over and does his best to pull Aziraphale on top of him. He makes an undignified but delighted noise as he lands.

“What was that for?” 

Crowley reaches over to draw the angel’s head to his. “You can’t make a face like that and expect me to not do something about it.” 

“No, I suppose you can’t.” Before Crowley kisses him, he sees a glint in Aziraphale’s eyes that indicates he got exactly what he wanted. 

— 

It’s about a month later before Crowley has the opportunity to sleep at Aziraphale’s again. This time they’re in the flat, working through a third bottle of lovely Argentinean red and talking about nothing in particular. 

He yawns and gets up, intending to head to his place and crawl into bed. 

Aziraphale catches him by the sleeve. “You can sleep here, if you like.” 

“I don’t want to put you out.” It’s the first time the angel’s invited him to stay the night. 

“Nonsense, dearest. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you here.” He tugs Crowley back down, slotting their fingers together. “Don’t worry about me—I can read or do something else while you’re resting.” 

“All right,” Crowley replies. “But only because you said you didn’t object.” 

Aziraphale smiles and presses a little kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you, darling.” 

The bed is much more comfortable than he expected. He wonders if the angel fixed it up especially for him, or if he’s a hedonist on principle even for things he doesn’t do. 

“All settled then?” Aziraphale has changed into a dressing gown, as soft and comfortable-looking as his hair. His reading glasses are perched on his nose, and he has a little light clipped to the cover of his book. 

Crowley nods and turns over on his side. “Night, angel.”

“Sweet dreams, then.” 

— 

He wakes up to Aziraphale shaking him gently and makes a noise that he hopes is inquisitive but confused. 

“I’m sorry to wake you, dear, but you were making the strangest noises, and I wasn’t sure if you were all right.” His expression is genuinely worried, so Crowley tamps down on his annoyance at being woken up. 

“Huh. Guess I do snore then.” It’s not like he’s ever had anybody to ask, or to notice. 

“So that’s… normal?” He can see Aziraphale going through his memories and descriptions of sleeping behaviour, another human thing he didn’t understand becoming clear. 

“Yeah, it is.” He turns over again. 

Fingers card through his hair, perhaps in apology. Before he can think about it more, he’s asleep again.

— 

He rolls over and collides with something. It turns out to be Aziraphale’s face. 

“Ow!” Aziraphale cries, rubbing his nose. 

Crowley feels bad that he’s hurt, but not apologetic. He wasn’t the one sticking his head over a sleeping being, after all. 

“What were you doing?” He’s irritated now, because if the angel invited him to sleep over he should be able to actually bloody do so. 

“It’s silly. I shouldn’t have done it, but I was concerned.” Aziraphale’s tone is sheepish as well as regretful, and Crowley decides there’s no point in being annoyed about it. 

“About what?” 

“I couldn’t feel you breathing. I know you don’t need to, and I have no idea how your nature interacts with an ostensibly human body, but I wanted to make sure you were all right.” 

Any lingering irritation he might have had disappears, like water on a hot pan. The angel loves him. And one of the way he shows it is through fretting. Crowley supposes he can deal with that. 

“I have an idea.” He pulls Aziraphale closer, until they’re laying next to each other. He takes Aziraphale’s hand and rests it on his chest, above his heart. 

“I think I can work with that.” In the dim light, he sees a glimmer of a smile. Aziraphale presses a kiss to his temple and settles in next to him.

The sun is high when Crowley wakes up. Aziraphale is curled around him, one arm across his chest. He’s breathing slow and deep, completely oblivious to the world. 

Crowley smiles and miracles his phone into his hand. He has time to wait.


End file.
